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Sherlock's Final Stand
After quite a bit of searching, John shouted, “Here it is!” Sherlock ran over to John. Sure enough, The Chest of Reality was among a pile of books. He clapped his hands together.
“Ha ha! John Watson, I could probably kiss you right now!”
John laughed as Sherlock went to open the chest. “Well, don't fuel the rumors!”
“Alohomora!” Sherlock said, unlocking the chest. He pushed the lid up. “Now, we can finally go hom...”
“SHERLOCK!” Tobias screamed, running in out of nowhere. The boys saw Tobias change into a cat, rush in front of the boys, and shift back into a wizard just as the furniture dragon blew fire at the duo. Tobias managed to deflect the worst of the fire, but still got hit by a severe amount in the end. The Auror fell to the floor.
“TOBIAS!” The boys shouted, rushing to their guardian's aide. But alas, they were too late. The Auror closed his eyes. “At least I did my job right. Kept you two... safe enough...” Tobias croaked out. He went limp.
Sherlock looked almost desperate. “John, can you fix him?” He said, despite knowing it was irrational.
“Sherlock, I can't just...”
“You're a doctor, John! Just try!”
John grabbed Tobias's wrist, checking for a pulse. He looked to Sherlock and shook his head. Sherlock looked down, closed his eyes, and seemed rather depressed. That passed, and the depression was replaced with determination. “John, The Chest. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get away from Smaug here...”
“So you've read The Hobbit at least...” John said as he hopped into The Chest. “It had to do with a case I had a couple years ago.” Sherlock simply stated. John sat curled up in The Chest, leaving room for Sherlock. The Dragon blew fire overhead. That's when Sherlock had an idea. He reached for the lid of The Chest of Reality.
“If I'm not back soon, find them!”
As Sherlock threw down the lid, John shouted at him. Sherlock then re-opened The Chest, letting out a relieved sigh when he saw it was empty. “At least he's safe. I'm sorry, John. But I can't risk you dying, too.” He said to himself. The young detective turned to the dragon.
“So, this is where you went!” He shouted at the dragon. “You're probably wondering why I stayed behind. Depression? Guilt? Self-Loathing? Incredible imbecility? No. I simply wanted to finish what we started back at The Ministry!” He climbed halfway into The Chest, and made a slashing movements with his wand at the dragon. “Sectumsempra!”
Unfortunately, his poor aim hit a vanity on the dragon. The mirror reflected the curse back to Sherlock. He tumbled off the box and onto the floor. He had thick slashes on his torso and was bleeding like mad. The dragon drew in on him.
And for the first time he could remember in a long time, Sherlock Holmes cried.
“I'm sorry, John.” He whispered, the very action filling him with agony. The dragon was poised to ignite him...
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